


(i can hear your heart)

by roseblossom



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Birthday Surprises, Established Relationship, M/M, Writer Harry, Writer Louis, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8944525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseblossom/pseuds/roseblossom
Summary: Playing by the rules, of time and of Harry, he only has one more sticky note clue to reveal after this before his twenty-sixth birthday is over. Something about that countdown makes him linger over pulling this one off, linger over ending the game. He holds his breath as he pulls the sticky edge away from the cardstock board Harry made, already smiling as he flips it over.
Or, Harry plans twenty-six surprises for Louis' birthday.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [millionlittletings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millionlittletings/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this complete and utter fluff. :)   
> xo

The kitchen timer goes off somewhere near the toaster, a gentle blaring sound worn quieter over time. Louis clicks the off button in passing and braces his hands on the countertop. It’s just past eight in the evening, 8:26 to be exact. He fingers the edge of the orange sticky note marked with the same time. On the back there’s going to be some direction, a clue of sorts. It’s the twenty-fifth sticky note he’s looked at today so he knows the game by now.

Playing by the rules, of time and of Harry, he only has one more sticky note clue to reveal after this before his twenty-sixth birthday is over. Something about that countdown makes him linger over pulling this one off, linger over ending the game. He holds his breath as he pulls the sticky edge away from the cardstock board Harry made, already smiling as he flips it over.

*

They hadn’t planned it like this, for Harry to be gone on Louis’ birthday. The call had come only three days prior, Harry’s need to meet with his publisher in America and return on Christmas night. Harry seemed more upset by it than Louis, reading the email out quietly in the kitchen while Louis finished cooking their pasta and Harry poured glasses of wine from his seat at the kitchen island.

“I’m so sorry, Lou,” he’d said as he set his phone back on the counter with a gentle click.

Louis’ lips had twitched in response as he turned down the flame under the sauce and wiped his hands on the dish towel hanging on the front of the oven. “You’re sorry?” He’d asked, spinning around to face Harry. He laughed at the dejected look on Harry’s face. Neither of them have ever been criers but Harry looked very near it in that moment as he’d taken a deep, albeit shaking, breath. “Of course I am. It’s important to me to be here.”

Louis’ laughter had bubbled out of him as he crossed the kitchen in only two steps to slide his arms around Harry’s sides and let his hands rest over Harry’s stomach. His back was warm as he pressed against Louis’ front, their bodies melting together in such a familiar embrace; familiar to them, to this kitchen. “You aren’t allowed to be sorry,” Louis said quietly, right against Harry’s ear. He watched the chills on the back of Harry’s neck, his long hair pulled up in a bun. “Do you know why?”

“No.” Without looking, Louis knew he was smiling.

“Because you wrote a book and someone has decided they’d like to publish it,” Louis said, squeezing his arms around Harry tighter. “And now they want to fly you to America to discuss it.” His voice was colored with incredulity and he felt when Harry started laughing, ducking his head when Louis kissed quickly along his neck. “So, you can’t be sad. You can be worried for your publisher’s mental health, if you’d like.”

Harry twisted around on the bar stool, Louis’ hands sliding to let him. Louis started laughing when Harry kissed his lips, smiling right against his mouth. He could feel Harry’s unease slipping, as if Louis would ever deny him the absolute enthusiasm to celebrate his career.

“You’ll owe me a whole celebration when you get back,” Louis said, reaching around Harry for his glass of red and taking a sip. “Circus animals should be included.”

“Circus animals?” Harry walked his fingertips along Louis’ ribs through his t-shirt. “You think that will fit in our humble flat, love?”

“Humble flat?” Louis raised his eyebrows, “I figured you would be buying me a mansion with that book advance.”

“Oh, really?” Harry’s dimples curved in as he kissed Louis’ jaw once and then stood. “You sit here and keep dreaming about that, I’ll finish dinner before it burns.”

Louis sat on the stool where Harry had just been with a soft noise of protest. “It’s not burning,” he said, his words perfectly timed with a billowing cloud of steam lifting upwards as Harry removed the lid from the sauce.

*

There have a been a few times in the five years Louis has been dating Harry Styles where he’s wished he could open up his head to see what’s inside – all of the surprises and plans, secret and otherwise; None more so, though, than three days after their kitchen conversation on the day of Louis’ twenty-sixth birthday.

Louis had fully expected to wake up alone, having already taken Harry to the airport in the dead of night the day before. So he had been confused at first; when the bell rang and he’d had to drag himself out of his warm bed, an hour earlier than usual, on his birthday no less, to answer the door. To be fair, the post man didn’t seem over the moon to see Louis with his ruffled hair and oversized sweatshirt, sweats, and purple socks scrunched down by his ankles.

Louis barely spared a thought for his fashion choices when he caught the neatly small scrawl on the sturdy envelope being handed to him, barely remembered to murmur ‘Happy Christmas’ as he tore along the cardboard edge of the envelope in his hands. He kicked the door shut with his heel, his warm bed quickly fading as he tugged out the cardstock from the envelope—snug around the corners. The front was covered in different colored sticky notes, the vibrant set rather than the dull yellows. He could feel his face pulling in confusion as he looked at the times scrawled on each note, most but not all ending twelve or twenty-six minutes past the hour. There was a note from Harry as well, a thin piece of paper taped to the back with instructions to pull each sticky note at the designated time along with a double underlined post script that Louis shouldn’t cheat and pull all of the sticky notes off at once. “Oh, you know me well, love,” Louis murmured, a smile playing at his lips in the empty flat.

It had taken more self-control than Louis readily admits to having to go through the day by pulling only one note at a time, especially once he realized each time he revealed a note he received a present. The first was simple – a new bottle of face wash he had run out of – and the second was sweet – a gift card to their favorite coffee shop so Louis could stop off on his way to the office. Most people take the day before Christmas off from work but for Louis the news never stops and as a news writer, he isn’t supposed to either.

He was on the tube when he pulled off a note about checking the lining of his bag only to find Harry had put a phone charging bank in the secret pocket of his work bag. At his office there were gifts tucked around his space– a box of condoms taped to the underside of his desk made his cheeks flush at the mere memories involving that exact desk and a new set of pens and pencils that said crude things on them and made Louis laugh aloud in his empty office. Harry had gotten him so many of the books he wanted and those were hidden around his building too, an entire armful to take back home, though he did have to leave a couple behind to get after the holiday. He couldn’t begin to imagine when Harry had been there without Louis knowing, tucking books in the paper supply bin and under the chair in the lobby.

Harry had arranged for Louis’ best friends to take him to lunch though he nearly cried in surprise when they showed up at the reception desk– particularly when he saw Liam who he hadn’t seen in person for nearly a year. When he got back to the office, feeling more overwhelmed than he thought possible at freshly twenty-six, it was past time for the next sticky note which only had a terrible drawing of a phone on it. While they both happen to be creatives and writers, drawing doesn’t belong on Harry or Louis’ list of talents. Louis stared at the drawing, tried to dive inside Harry’s mind for a moment and figure out what exactly he was thinking in drawing the haphazard phone, but he didn’t get far at all before his own cell phone was ringing with a FaceTime call from his favorite person in the universe, bar none. He said that much to Harry’s sleepy face on his screen, wishing so badly he could reach across the miles between them and push his fingers back through Harry’s hair and smooth his thumb along his sleep swollen cheeks.

When Louis got home there was a bottle of wine hidden in the pocket of a coat in the closet and take out dinner arrived unprompted just after seven. Under the couch was a stash of movies Louis had mentioned wanting to see and under a cushion was the jumper Louis had carried around the store for an hour before hanging it back up the last time they went shopping.

*

Each surprise meant the sticky notes on the cardstock piece dwindled, a colorful countdown of hours passing – Louis advancing into his twenty-sixth year and Harry getting closer to coming home; All of it, of course, leading to Louis standing at the kitchen counter revealing the second to last sticky note of the day.

Louis’ heart doesn’t skip a beat over seeing Harry’s handwriting on the back of the twenty-fifth sticky note but there’s a gentle warmth at the familiarity, at knowing Harry wrote out “Top shelf, ice box” without Louis even knowing, planning an entire day for Louis with him being none the wiser. Not for the first time, he reminds himself to ask Harry if he’d planned all of this before knowing he was leaving to the states or in the twelve hours between finding out and boarding the plane.

The sticky note stays attached to Louis’ thumb as he opens the door to the ice box, half-wondering how he has managed to miss all of Harry’s surprises hidden throughout their flat when he has always felt like a very aware person – and then he sees it. A box from the Dancing Deer bakery, tied with a green ribbon, sitting on the very top shelf. And it’s stupid, really, that Louis should feel emotional except that it’s where he and Harry had their very first date, shaking hands and stuttered words in a back booth as they tried to learn everything they could about each other without barely knowing each other’s last names. They both say they just knew – that day, in that booth – everything that came before didn’t matter more than what was happening in that moment, and would barely compare to everything that would someday follow.

Louis pulls out the box and knows as he opens it what’s inside – miniature peppermint ice cream cakes with chocolate brownie crust. He shakes his head as he roots around their drawers for a spoon, cutting off a bite and leaning against the kitchen island as he chews. He can’t count how many times he and Harry have eaten the peppermint ice cream cakes since that very first day but somehow they don’t taste as sweet without Harry next to him.

With only one sticky note to go, Louis is absolutely torn between being impressed at the effort Harry has put into the quasi-scavenger hunt and overwhelmed by just how well Harry knows him. After three years he can recite Harry’s allergies by heart, tell when he’s lying without looking and recreate the arrangement of freckles on his back, if anyone ever asked. Still, the little things – the day to day mentions of books and movies and phone chargers – those are the ones Harry has somehow tucked in his memory. It’s easy to remember the never-changing, harder to remember the things said without intention or thought. Somehow, Harry has managed both.

Louis lounges on the couch for the next hour watching one of his new movies, drinking an entire bottle of wine, and waiting for the final sticky note to come due before he goes to bed. There have been birthdays where he hasn’t slept until the following night – his first birthday with Harry he was pressed against a bathroom door in a pub as Harry dropped to his knees in front of him – and he’s had quiet birthdays but never one spent on his own. As lucky as Harry has made him feel throughout the day, Louis kind of can’t wait for the entire thing to be over and for Harry to just be home again.

Louis almost falls asleep before the last sticky note alarm goes off but time has other plans and the kitchen timer wakes him up again, a crick in his neck from dozing on the couch at an awkward angle. He turns off the television and picks up around the couch, throwing his dinner garbage and ice cream cake garbage away before finally pulling off the final sticky note.

Louis follows the instructions back to the bedroom to look under his own pillow as Harry had written on the back of the pink note. He actually laughs out loud when he sees an envelope resting on the bed underneath the pillow. He should have noticed it, it’s crazy he didn’t realize he was sleeping on an envelope – then again, he’s been using Harry’s pillow for two nights and didn’t even bother to touch his own. He adds it to the list of things Harry knows about him without him even realizing it.

Dating a writer, being a writer, lends Louis’ expertise to knowing what Harry has put in the thick cream envelope in his hands. He decides to settle in to their bed for whatever it is Harry has written to him, leaving the envelope on the side table as he turns out the lights in the flat, brushes his teeth and takes out his contacts, making sure to lock the front door. Finally, back in his sweats and a shirt he can’t remember belonging to Harry or him, he opens the envelope.

It is indeed a handwritten letter, written on thick, creamy paper with Harry’s signature scrawl on both sides. Louis can hear Harry in his head as he reads along, laughing aloud at his terribly written jokes – only Harry would try for humor in a love letter. Most of it just makes Louis’ heart beat faster in his chest, pounding along at each promise and wish, trying to memorize the way he feels in the moment and trying to figure out how he can press that same feeling into the very seams of Harry’s skin.

Louis won’t say it out loud but he reads the letter a couple more times over, biting his lip over the wording and laughing at the same and different bits again. When he asked for Harry’s number in the Dancing Deer bakery five years before, he just thought he was cute. He didn’t imagine Harry would give him his number or agree to go on a date that same afternoon, that same hour. He didn’t imagine he would fall in love or that the kind of love they found would loop around them in endless circles, tucking their hearts close together even when they’re apart. When he looked at Harry across the bakery, watched him chew on a pen like a rabbit chews a carrot, he had no idea he was seeing his heartbeat in physical form, that for each day following that one he would be wholly consumed by Harry Styles.

Eventually, Louis trades in the letter for one of the new books he’s received from Harry, staying up to finish the first chapter before falling asleep without even turning off the side lamp. He used to stay awake until midnight on his birthday, to celebrate Christmas at the exact moment it turned but no one told him that being twenty-six would have him passed out on his boyfriend’s pillow well before midnight.

*

Louis wakes sometime in the middle of the night with a wash of disorientation. He can’t quite remember falling asleep or forgetting to turn off the light and he blinks as he pats his hand around the bed for his phone to check the time. Before he finds his phone though, he registers a figure standing in the doorway of the bedroom. The moment where there should be blinding fright melts away before it can even land fully because it’s the same moment he realizes just who is standing in the doorway, overnight back loped over his chest.

“Harry?” Louis blinks again, trying to clear his eyes before he realizes his contacts are not even in his eyes to help him.

“No, it’s Santa.” Harry’s deep voice sounds even better coming from so close, as does his smile as he drops his bag on the floor and crosses the room.

“You’re a loser,” Louis says, smiling anyway.

“Surprise, by the way,” Harry says as he crawls up the bed, one knee on either side of Louis’ legs until they both fall back against the pillows. “Did I scare you?”

“Not really, babe.” Louis rests one hand on Harry’s neck and the other along his jaw brushing over his cheekbone. He’s warm even coming in from the cold outside, his lips smooth against Louis’ when he curves his neck to kiss him. “By the time I was about to get scared you were already grinning like the Easter Bunny. Not so scary after all.”

Harry pouts even as he Louis brushes kisses all over his face, “Wrong holiday.” Louis makes a nose in his throat and attempts a shrug which is half-hearted with Harry pressed on top of him. “Missed you,” Harry says lowly the next moment, pressing his face against Louis’ neck and inhaling. Louis runs his fingers back through Harry’s hair, scratching his scalp just slightly.

“Missed you, love.” He kisses the top of Harry’s forehead, all he can reach in the current position. “Had the best birthday because of you.”

“Yeah?” Harry lifts his head, “Better than the year I got you body paint and let you frost me like a cake?”

Louis laughs with his head pressing back against the pillows though there’s a low curl of heat in his stomach at the memory too. “That’s a close second, probably.”

“I’m a very convincing cake,” Harry says.

Louis lets his hands roam under Harry’s sweatshirt and t-shirt to his skin, curling his fingernails up Harry’s back. “You made me feel like I was on a television show,” Louis says, trying to be serious. “Like a dream.”

Harry grins and kisses Louis, their lips lingering longer than any previous kiss that night. “I’m so glad,” he says against Louis mouth, then kissing along his jaw and to his pulse point. “They were able to fit all my meetings in earlier than I thought so I left a day early. I was hoping to make it for your birthday but made it for Jesus’ birthday instead.”

Louis snorts and kisses Harry’s cheek once, quick. “You’re such a nerd. It physically pains me.”

“Are you tired?” Harry traces Louis’ eyebrow with his finger.

“You just woke me up in the middle of the night – I’m a bit tired, yes.” Louis tries for stern but laughs at Harry’s offended face. “I think you’ve just energized me. What do you have in mind?”

Harry bites his bottom lip but Louis smooths his thumb to release it before he speaks. “I want to shower and drink that fancy ass wine I bought you and tell you about my trip and hear about your day and then sleep for a bunch of hours and wake up and celebrate Christmas with you.”

His eyes seem to sparkle and Louis feels only partly bad when he has to say, “I may have drank the fancy ass wine already.” Harry sits up so he’s straddling Louis, his features drawn in shock and his mouth dropped open. “Oops.” Louis walks his fingers up Harry’s thighs and traces the seams of his jeans. “We can eat ice cream cakes. I only had a bite of those.”

Harry sighs, “I guess that’s fine since it was your birthday and all.” He grabs Louis hand when he reaches for the button on his jeans and kisses his fingertips. “Can we eat ice cream cake in bed?”

Louis smirks, “Of course. Do I have any say in our plans for this middle of the night extravaganza?”

Harry hums, “Nope. Your birthday is over, that’s the end.” He smiles sheepishly at Louis’ fierce look, “Kidding. What do you want, boo?”

Louis licks his bottom lip and sits up so he can press closer to Harry. “I agree with the shower, you smell like a plane.” He kisses Harry’s protesting lips. “And of course I agree with ice cream in bed.” He tucks a curl of Harry’s hair behind his ear and then puts his hands under Harry’s sweatshirt again, gently rubbing the sides of his hips where his jeans hit. “I can’t wait to hear about your meetings and how brilliant everyone thinks you are.” He kisses the side of Harry’s neck and then bites where his lips trace, if only to hear the sigh fall from Harry’s lips. “But then, baby, I want birthday sex.” He feels Harry’s body melt into him, even as he says the words – always easy for a bit of dirty talk.

“On Jesus’ birthday?” Harry finally manages between Louis sucking and biting the side of his neck.

Louis hums against his skin, “Once for Jesus’ birthday, once for mine?”

Harry’s smirk turns wicked when Louis leans back to look at him. “Once for Jesus and then a few times for you—I’ll have to decide on that one.”

Louis matches his smirk, “Okay.” His hands drop from under Harry’s sweatshirt to his lap, pressing along the zip of his black jeans. “But you’re showering first? And the ice cream cakes, right? And the talking about how brilliant you are?”

Harry’s eyes go dark as Louis watches him. “I think those can wait. Right now, all I want is you.”


End file.
